


Warmth

by littlemaple



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon Universe, Dorian's POV, I'm Bad At Titles, M/M, Mutual Pining, mostly at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 12:34:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20008378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemaple/pseuds/littlemaple
Summary: In which the Inquisitor fails in hiding his exhaustion, Dorian is worried, and the Inquisitor finally says something he's been meaning to say for a while.





	Warmth

**Author's Note:**

> i've been thinking about da:i a lot lately, and even more about lavellan/dorian, so here we are. i'm afraid this is a little ooc??? and if so i'm sorry, i was experimenting with the characters and trying to have fun.

The library was Dorian’s favorite place to be in Skyhold.

Of course, one could sometimes find him by the Herald’s Rest drinking the disgusting thing they dared call ale or playing Wicked Grace with Varric, but most often than not, he was at the library.

Despite the endless cawing of crows above, it was peaceful there. The Tranquil left him alone unless they needed something from him, and his Tevinter heritage made everyone else leave him alone despite needing something.

So he had happily claimed the reading nook by the window near the stairs, organizing the books there according to his own needs, and creating a nice corner to come back to from whatever mission or expedition the Inquisitor asked him to be a part of.

The Inquisitor. Due to his reading nook’s strategic location, Dorian could watch him come up or down the stairs many times a day. He once, in his boredom, played a drinking game with himself: he was to drink a glass of wine whenever the Inquisitor strode by the library. Needless to say, he was drunk before noon.

The elf was always doing something, going somewhere. Dorian often wondered if he was physically capable of sitting down for half an hour without fretting or having someone come and remind him to do so.

As he often reminded Lavellan, it was tiresome to watch him.

And as he often thought about the Inquisitor — too often, he reminded himself disapprovingly — he often worried about his health.

“There won’t be someone to close the Breach if you die of exhaustion beforehand,” he said once.

Lavellan half-smiled, half sighed. A guard handed him an urgent report before he could reply. And then he was gone, not without a brief glance in Dorian’s direction.

As weeks passed and problems upon problems demanded the Inquisitor’s attention, Dorian was glad to just catch glimpses of him running (sometimes literally) up or down the stairs. It meant he was well. He didn’t expect Lavellan to stop by to speak to him, but he was positively surprised whenever he did. Sometimes it was just a brief hello, some other times he lingered a bit, asking about what Dorian was reading before saying he had to go. Dorian liked the attention. Sometimes he caught something in Lavellan’s eyes, some sort of uncertainty, like he wanted to say something, and it always made Dorian feel warm and agitated inside to notice it, but this something never left Lavellan’s eyes and made its way to his lips.

Until that afternoon.

It was cold in Skyhold, colder than usual, and Dorian caught himself thinking back to his homeland, missing the warmth, when Lavellan ran up the stairs. He had a few papers on his hands, and he looked slightly out of breath. His face was pale, which made his face tattoos —Vallaslin… was it? Dorian didn’t remember the correct pronunciation anymore and thought that perhaps he should ask about it again — seem highlighted.

He smiled at Dorian, the way he usually did, and Dorian felt warmth rising inside of him, a familiar but unwelcome kind.

“Don’t you ever tire of running?” Dorian asked nonchalantly.

“Don’t have time for that,” Lavellan answered with a brief chuckle, approaching Dorian’s chair, “I need to ask Leliana to send these for me,” he shuffled the papers on his hand, “but…” he leaned on the bookshelves, which Dorian at first thought to be a charming move, “… uh, later, maybe…” but then Lavellan’s eyes seemed a little unfocused, and he covered his eyes for a second, sighing, then looking around like he couldn’t quite remember what he was about to say, leaning heavily on the bookshelves.

“Are you feeling well?” Dorian asked worriedly, approaching Lavellan, but not touching him.

“I’m fine…” he answered, pushing himself away from the bookshelves and staggering in place, almost losing his balance.

“Like hell you are!” Dorian scoffed, lightly touching his shoulder, as to prevent him from falling.

“I’m just a little tired… I just need to, uh…” he leaned forward, then, towards Dorian, and rested his forehead on his shoulder.

“You need to rest. Come, I’ll take you to your quarters.”

“No, I need...”

“Please, Inquisitor.”

One of the mages who was walking by stopped, eyeing them suspiciously.

“Is everything alright?”

“Get Solas,” Dorian asked, “ask him to come to the Inquisitor’s quarters.”

The mage nodded, and Dorian grabbed Lavellan’s papers before he could drop them. His intention was the give him support and help him walk to their destination, but Lavellan kept on babbling about delivering papers and staggering where he stood, so Dorian saw no other option but to sweep him off his feet and carry him. Surprisingly, Lavellan didn’t complain. He rested his head on Dorian’s shoulder and sighed.

Many sets of eyes followed Dorian as he carried the Inquisitor, and he was sure some rumor or other was already spreading like wildfire. He almost wished he’d be present to see Mother Giselle’s reaction when she heard them.

Once he reached the Inquisitor’s quarters, he helped him to bed. Lavellan sighed, staring at the ceiling, and Dorian was surprised he didn’t try to stand up immediately. He must’ve really been exhausted.

“You didn’t need to do that…” Lavellan said, “I don’t hate it — just… now everyone will—”

“Inquisitor, are you alright?” Solas’ voice was heard before he appeared, followed by Varric.

Lavellan groaned.

“I’m fine, really.”

“He almost passed out on me,” Dorian corrected.

“You’re being dramatic... It was just… I was a little dizzy, is all,” Lavellan insisted, sitting up in bed.

Solas walked to him, first touching his forehead — Dorian heard Lavellan huff — before using his magic to check on him. A faint green light shone on Lavellan’s pale face, his eyes closed.

“There’s nothing wrong with him,” Solas stated once he was done.

“I said so,” Lavellan rolled his eyes.

“I may be dramatic, but you _did_ almost collapse,” Dorian defended himself.

“The kid’s probably just exhausted,” Varric said, crossing his arms, “we just came back from Emprise du Lion last night, and before that, we spent almost a week in the Hinterlands, and I haven’t seen him resting at all this whole time.”

“It’s not like I’ve been skipping all my meals or not sleeping… I have a lot to do.”

“Still, you need to rest. Sit down, read a book. Maybe get drunk,” Varric shrugged.

“I don’t have time…”

“Maybe Varric’s right,” Solas nodded, “There’s nothing wrong with you right now, but the Anchor does take a toll on you whenever you close a rift. We closed three in Emprise du Lion, not to mention the ones in the Hinterlands… you _should_ rest.”

Lavellan didn’t say anything, closing his left hand in a fist.

Heavy footsteps came up the stairs, and they all turned to face a worried Cassandra.

“I heard the Inquisitor was dying! What’s going on?!” she asked.

“Gossip goes around this place faster than snow, I see,” Dorian shook his head.

“I’m fine, Cassandra, don’t worry. Just a misunderstanding… see, that’s exactly why I can’t stay here and _rest_. Everyone will worry…” Lavellan sighed. Dorian watched in amusement as his left ear twitched slightly.

“I’ll go around and make sure everyone knows you’re alive and well. You should rest,” Varric said.

“I agree,” Dorian nodded.

It took some time to convince Lavellan to stay, but eventually he let out a soft groan, muttering “Fine.”

“I’ll stay and make sure you won’t run to your desk to write reports or letters,” Dorian said as he sat down on the couch, crossing his legs, as Varric descended the stairs.

“Yes, you do that, Sparkles,” he heard the dwarf say before he was gone.

Lavellan pouted briefly, looking down at his hands before, defeatedly, taking off his boots and tossing them in a corner. He then glanced over at Dorian before falling back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He sighed.

“This is all your fault,” he said.

“Is it, now?” Dorian raised an eyebrow, “Please enlighten me in how, as I don’t seem to remember.”

Lavellan didn’t say anything at first, moving his feet slightly. He kept looking up.

“I… if I hadn’t stopped to speak to you, then I wouldn’t…”

“You would have probably fallen down the stairs,” Dorian remarked.

“Probably. I could’ve stood up right away and nobody would know.”

“Have you done that before?”

“Maybe,” Lavellan sighed, then groaned, “Ugh, I just wanted to…” he sighed again, “I just wanted to…” there it was, that uncertainty. Dorian gulped, feeling his body warming up, “… ask if you, well, if you’d like to… you know…”

“I don’t think I do, no,” Dorian teased.

“You _know_ , like... do... something together? Maybe? Grab a drink, or… do something interesting together…” Lavellan said, with growing frustration in his voice. Dorian couldn’t be sure from that angle, but it looked like he was blushing.

“Perhaps,” Dorian said, “after you’ve rested a bit… I can think of something interesting for us to do,” he said.

There was a brief moment of silence.

“Fine,” Lavellan said finally, “I’ll rest, then. You better think of something.”

Dorian chuckled. “Of course.”

He felt warm, and it was slightly uncomfortable, that feeling. He was afraid of it. Then he looked up, in time to see Lavellan watching him. As their eyes met, Lavellan looked away, pretending to be interested in the ceiling again. Dorian smiled to himself. Being afraid wouldn’t stop him, would it? He rather liked that warmth, he realized. He had always been one to play with fire. No reason to step back now.


End file.
